I go back every few years, when I can afford it, and have done for the past twenty years. I tell my family I need a break, just a week away by myself, to recharge my batteries. It’s become a bit of a family joke, my need to recover from the stresses of their company. My husband’s very good about it, he says he understands. But he doesn’t. How could he? How could I explain to him the real reason for my regular sojourns? How could I explain what happened all those years ago?
‘Darling, twenty years ago I took part in a bacchanalian orgy. I just need to return to remind myself of how alive I felt.’
He would never believe me and if he did what effect would that have on our marriage?
Twenty years ago, I’d just finished university and, like many other students, I took a year off to travel. I’m a great fan of classical antiquity and had decided to spend a chunk of the year in Greece, visiting ancient historical sites. During that time I based myself in Mykonos and spent several days visiting Delos, an island that had great cultural significance during the classical era. It was, reputedly, the birthplace of Artemis, the goddess of hunting and Apollo the sun god and it houses the ruins of a Dionysian shrine where a pillar is topped by the remains of a huge, broken stone phallus. Dionysus was the god of wine, the inspirer of ritual madness and ecstasy who was followed about the country by his entourage of maenads and satyrs. I often wondered, during the following years, whether my subsequent experience had been influenced by my visit to Delos, whether I’d played out a fantasy based on the eroticism of ancient myth. But the event was just too vivid, I don’t think my mind is capable of constructing such an intense experience.
I spent a week on Mykonos and then took a ferry to Ikaria, reputedly the birthplace of Dionysus. There, I rented a room from a fisherman and his wife who supplemented their meagre income by accommodating comparatively well off European tourists. The island is stunning. I only meant to stay for a few days but ended up spending a week. I hired a bike and spent my time exploring the island, swimming in the sea and relaxing on the glorious beaches.
It happened on the day before I was due to leave the island. In the morning I’d cycled along the coast road and spent the day on a secluded beach. On my return journey, in the late afternoon, I followed a different route. I found myself tiring and decided to take a break. Leaving my bike behind a bush at the side of a dirt track I made my way down a bank which led to a valley populated by pines where I hoped I could get some respite from the heat of the sun. I picked my way through a number of trees until I found myself standing in a large, circular clearing that was surrounded by pines. In the middle of the clearing there was a very large piece of stone. It was shaped like a bowl, thigh height and about six foot in diameter. There were no other rocks or boulders in the area and it looked as though it had been placed there for a specific purpose. Perhaps the site had been used for religious rituals or festive occasions?
I walked over to the stone and brushed my hand over its flattened surface. It was warm and smooth. I wondered whether it was some sort of ancient table or perhaps even an altar? I wandered around it looking for any engravings or graffiti that might give me clues to its purpose. As I did so, my foot kicked against a hard clump of turf. I bent down and tore away some of the brittle grass to reveal a piece of smooth stone. I picked it up. It had a curious shape. Feeling a little excited, I sat on the table and examined it more closely. It was a length of marble, about seven inches long, phallus shaped, rounded and smooth at one end with a large ball at the other which I assumed was meant to be a handle or a representation of a scrotum, or both. It had a sensuous appeal. I began to fantasise, imagining myself as a novice, being initiated into the ancient mysteries of Apollo or Dionysus; surrounded by others and being ritualistically fucked with the phallus. The image was arousing.
By now, the light was beginning to change as it was late in the afternoon. The day had lost its brightness. I took a swig from a bottle of wine I’d brought and listened, peacefully, to the summer stillness. I felt relaxed. The air was still and warm around my body and the stone table warmed my bottom and thighs. In the distance I could hear the pleasant chirping of crickets. I lay on my back, spread myself on the table and looked up at the blue sky. I thought again of an initiation ceremony and imagined, in more detail, a ritual in honour of Dionysus; the cult’s priestess using an oiled, marble phallus to pleasure me.
My arousal returned. I sat up. I was entirely alone, in a secluded, uninhabited area. There was no chance of me being seen. I picked up the stone phallus, pulled up my thin, cotton dress, removed my knickers and parted my legs. I pressed and gently rubbed the smooth, warm stone against my vulva. Gradually, the head disappeared. I began to ease the marble back and forth, and, as I enjoyed my fantasy, my breathing became deeper and heavier. Soon, my breath came in short gasps and, while my eyes lazily focussed on the trees at the edge of the clearing, I felt myself building to an orgasm. Then, suddenly jolted by a feeling of danger, I froze. I was being watched.
It was his face I noticed first, his eyes. He was standing by a pine tree, still and alert. His head was raised slightly, his nose sniffing the air, like an animal trying to locate a scent and I was suddenly aware of the wetness between my legs and an odd thought occurred to me : had the aroma of my cunt attracted his attention? He stared at me and I felt my initial surprise replaced by a trance-like curiosity. His eyes had the light, piercing blue of a wolf’s. They had an animal intelligence; cunning and alert. They were attractive, mesmerising. His head was covered by shoulder length, thick, copper hair. His face had the lazy sneer I recognised from so many pieces of ancient pottery and illustrations. His torso was hairless but underneath his belly, and covering his flanks, was a carpet of copper coloured, shaggy fur that tapered down to his cloven hooves. Two, Short, stubby horns protruded from the top of his forehead. An erect cock emphasised his arrogant appearance.
I sat, astonished. Here was the living form of a mythical creature; a satyr, a lascivious follower of Dionysus. Then, from the trees, a few feet to the left, another satyr appeared, almost identical to the one staring at me. He sauntered over to his companion with an elegant swagger, an erect cock swaying proudly in front of him. He was holding a small amphora which he held up to his mouth, gulped back some of its contents and then let out a mirthful laugh. He gave the amphora to his companion who raised it to his mouth and swigged, carelessly, without taking his eyes from me. The second satyr now noticed me. I felt threatened yet I was enthralled. Everything was utterly quiet. The satyrs watched me, nonchalantly assessing me. I wondered, fearfully, whether they were waiting for me to move, to run, before they attacked. I don’t know how long I sat there, seconds or minutes, but the atmosphere suddenly changed with the faint sound of laughter and then the reedy sound of a pipe. The satyrs smiled; leering, lazy, lustful smiles, as they stood, staring at me. I could now hear several pipes and the sound, melodic and playful, became louder and clearer. Then a group appeared from the trees, a tribe of satyrs, and maenads who were dressed in long, flowing togas.
At the head of them was a beautiful man. There was an aura of happiness and joy about him. He was youthful and had a slim, athletic build. Thick, sandy coloured hair tumbled past his shoulders, he was stunning. As he walked gracefully towards me, he uncovered himself, letting his toga slip to the floor. His cock, like the satyrs, was erect and swayed freely in the warm, early evening air. His body was lithe, his torso smooth and tight. His face lit up with a full, sunny, happy smile and I found myself smiling back, caught up in the festive atmosphere. I couldn’t take my eyes from his face. He came right up to me, still smiling, bent down and kissed me, a long, tender kiss and from the moment his lips touched mine I was enchanted. He put his arms around me and I felt his cock, hard against my thigh and I felt myself relax in his embrace. I was aware that all had now gone quiet. After a while he broke away from me, looked around and laughed. It was as though his laugh was some kind of signal. The satyrs threw back their heads and let out a strange, sexually charged laugh which had a low, rhythmic purr and added to the sexual frisson. I was now caught up in the atmosphere and found myself smiling and laughing, carefree and filled with sexual desire. Several satyrs came over to the stone table, their cocks swaying in front of me. The man knelt down on the table beside me, took me in his arms again and kissed me, his tongue filling my mouth, his hands caressing my neck and shoulders and fondling my breasts. He put a hand between my legs and gently eased my thighs apart. I followed his lead and spread my thighs wider, expecting to feel his fingers inside me. My eyes were still closed, focussed on the feel of his tongue which was still exploring my mouth. It wasn’t his fingers but the head of a satyr I felt between my legs, his shaggy hair caressing the soft insides of my thighs and his excited breath warming my pussy. Then, a practiced tongue, dipping, licking and lapping, sent pulses of pleasure through me. Again, the man broke away, looked down and laughed as the satyrs, like pigs at a trough, nudged each other aside. I felt no fear, only desire and I lay back in his arms, smiling as the satyrs feasted on my cunt. Their tongues, eager and lustful, sent me into a dizzy joy. The satyrs took turns to taste me and trotted around, whooping with joy, as though the juice from my cunt was some rare, vintage wine. I looked dreamily around me and took in what was now a full blown orgy. Shaggy satyr haunches pumped away as they took the maenads on their backs and from behind. Some of the maenads were fiercely riding satyrs and the early evening air was filled with grunts and cries of pleasure.
A maenad, only a few feet in front of me, was kneeling in front of a satyr, gripping the shaggy fur on his flanks as she greedily sucked the end of his cock. As the satyr’s purrs of approval grew louder she pulled away, cupped his balls with one hand and began to masturbate him with the other. The satyr tensed, then his hips bucked and his cock ejaculated great spurts of semen that sprayed lines across the enrapt face of the maenad. She delicately wiped the come from her face and licked what she could gather from her fingers, moaning with pleasure as though satyr semen were some rare delicacy.
I turned to the man whose fingers were now working between my legs and curled my fingers around his warm cock which felt like the marble phallus, hard and smooth. ‘Fuck me,’ I whispered, not knowing whether he understood. But he smiled, removed his fingers from between my legs and put them up to his nose and mouth, smelling and licking them, murmuring appreciatively. He lay back on the stone altar and pulled me toward him. I straddled him, my bottom facing his head, and lowered myself onto him. He gripped the top of my thighs and squeezed himself into me. My cunt was so wet that his thick cock filled me in a glorious rush that took my breath away. As I began to ride him, the satyrs, who had watched me re-position myself, pulled my dress over my head and flung it on the ground. They then resumed their feasting, burying their heads between our legs, and I felt their tongues soft and smooth, titillating and teasing, and my cunt already excited by the tight, massaging motion of cock, felt as though it was ready to burst with pleasure. I raised my arms and put my hands behind my neck and other satyrs licked, sucked and fondled my breasts as they bobbed freely in the evening air. I’d never experienced such feelings of desire, lust and joy. I felt free and liberated. I panted, moaned and laughed with carefree abandonment and the satyrs and maenads danced around the table, drinking, singing and fucking to the mellow sound of lyre and pipes.
The man now gripped my waist and thrust forcefully, pricking my ripened cunt until I felt myself spilling into orgasm. I leaned forward, gripped the horns of a satyr and ground my hips down onto the man as I felt myself shaking, uncontrollably, with pleasure. The man, without withdrawing, skilfully turned me onto my front and raised my bottom. I rested my face on the warm stone as he fucked me from behind. I felt several cocks on my head and shoulders and looked up to see the lazy smiles of the satyrs, their cocks swaying, expectantly, in front of me. I pushed myself up onto my hands. They’d feasted on me, now it was my turn to feast on them. I reached out and took a rigid cock in my mouth. It tasted wonderful; fresh and earthy; the moist glans had a subtle, sweet taste. I fondled the satyr’s heavy balls and he came. Pearls of semen filled my mouth and the taste was of a mild honey. I swallowed, greedily, and was filled with an intense physical joy as the satyr juice acted like a sense enhancing drug. I reached for another cock and sucked and licked until it too sprayed me with delicious come. Other satyrs, unable to wait for my mouth, had begun to masturbate and in a hedonistic frenzy I was covered with come which dripped from my skin and my hair and gathered in pools on the stone table. Maenads, drawn by the satyrs’ nectar, gathered around and licked the juices from my skin and from the table. As I continued to binge on satyr cock I felt the man’s thrusts from behind increasing in tempo and power and I responded, pushing my hips back with a similar urgency until my excited pussy shuddered with such ferocity that I sobbed with joy. The man’s rhythmic grunts now reached a crescendo and I felt him grip my hips, forcing my bottom tightly against his belly. I heard his stuttering cries and felt the pulse of his cock as it exploded, engorging my cunt, like a shaken bottle of champagne, and, as a tingling effervescence spread throughout my body, I felt as though every cell in me was vibrating with pleasure.
Finished, He eased his cock from me and I lay face down on the stone table, feeling sated and utterly relaxed. He kissed my forehead and stroked my hair. As I lay there, listening to the sound of the pipes fade, I felt the atmosphere changing. As my energy began to return I sat up and looked around to see the last of the satyrs disappearing into the trees. Within minutes the silence had returned and I was sitting, alone, on the stone table that was still damp with satyr juice.
My husband is a faithful and attentive lover. He’s given me a lot of pleasure over the years. But a god once made love to me and in that sense I’ve been cursed. I yearn to repeat that experience. Every few years I go back to the island. I still have the marble phallus which I take back with me to the same place. I sit on that stone table and pleasure myself, hoping the fragrance of my joy will again attract the attentions of a god and his followers. I hope that one day I can, again, be truly satyrsfied.